


The Long Road Home

by beautifullights



Series: The Light That Never Fails [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Childhood, Coming Out, DADT Repeal, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Hurt Poe Dameron, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kes Dameron is a Good Dad, Recovery, Torture, Young Poe Dameron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullights/pseuds/beautifullights
Summary: "It’s your dancing skills I’m worried about." Jess smirked at Poe. "I’m going to need to give you remedial lessons or something like that, one of these days.”“I hate dancing,” Poe muttered. “I don’t understand it. Especially not this kind. Just, like, wiggle your butt, and try to be cool, and shit. Like, do you look people in the eye? Do you—”Jess laughed so hard Poe worried for a moment that she was going to fall off the bridge. “Never change, dude,” she gasped at last, wiping her eyes. “Never change.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s do the same prompt, Animalasaysrauer/TuppingLiberty said in June 2016. Ok, I said. Sounds fun, I said. Just a cute little 1k prompt fill, smut and Stormpilot and smiles. Let’s do it, I said.
> 
> 100+k later of worldbuilding, relationship-building, feelings, and angst later, I'm finally ready to start posting it. I think. Oh god, am I really doing this? 
> 
> This is the first part of a 100k tripartite series: Poe's story, Finn's story, and the story of their relationship. It will be equally Finn- and Poe-centric (no, really, it will; I have a spreadsheet where I keep track of the wordcount in each POV). It will visit some dark themes - I will post specific warnings for each chapter. 
> 
> Thanks so much to StarMaple, PastAndFutureQueen, Conn8d, Zoe_Dameron, LeftWingLibrarian, and TuppingLiberty for betaing this sloppy mess of a fic. Many thanks also to the Star Wars Writing Alliance for your constant encouragement. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery warning in end notes

_May 25, 2002 (18 years old)_

Poe grabbed Jess and kissed her, one hand on the small of her back, the other closed between their bodies. She clung to him and tipped her face up to his, arms slung low across his shoulders. They swayed under the intoxicating music, eyes closed against the flashing multicolored lights. “Let’s get out of here,” Poe growled, just loud enough to be heard by the couples next to them.

Jess giggled. “My parents said—”

“Fuck them.” Poe sucked on her lip for a moment. “I’ve got the car. Let’s go park somewhere, yeah?”

“If we get caught—”

“Not going to get caught.” Poe shifted closer and moved his hand. Jess’ breath caught.

“Poe—”

“You want it?”

Jess hesitated, then nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah.” Her eyes flicked to the couples around them. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then let’s bounce.” Poe flashed her a smug grin, took her hand, and pulled her off the dance floor.

With a short walk across the gym-turned-dancefloor, a brief nod to one of the _very_ bored chaperone teachers, and a longing glance from Jess at the Prom King and Queen voting boxes in the lobby, they were outside. Jess laughed outright as Poe opened the door for her with a bow. With a peck on his cheek, she slipped into his car.

Poe glanced back at the door to the school once before getting into his own seat— _yes._ A pair of Jess’ friends were huddled around the corner of the school, sneaking a brief smoke. They pointed towards Poe’s car and whispered to each other. Poe flashed them a cheeky wave and slid into the driver’s seat.

It only took his car two tries to turn on, which was about par for the course. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Poe flicked the radio on and fiddled with the dial, finally settling on a cheery religious pop station.

“You think I’m going to lose my virginity to that?” Jess snorted. She changed it to top 40s.

“It’s happy!” Poe protested. “Better than this fake-drama pop stuff.”

“Shut up and let me sing. It’s cathartic. Or some shit like that.” Jess unpinned her corsage, angled it under her mouth like a microphone, and sang along all the way to the parking lot down by the river. Poe tried to not laugh at the slight modifications she made to the lyrics, but before long, he cracked up despite himself and sang along.

  


Poe secured the parking brake, turned the engine off, and sank his head down onto the steering wheel.

Jess sighed and put her feet up on the dash. “You did good in there,” she said. “Ever thought about being an actor?” Poe picked his head up just long enough to glare at her. Jess shrugged and continued, “‘I’d like to thank the Academy, my family, and Jess, my wonderful partner-in-crime—’”

“Don’t, Jess.” Poe thumped his head against the cracked old leather. “It’s just not funny anymore.”

“Hey. Hey!” Jess’ voice was suddenly closer. She put a hand on his shoulder. “One of us has to be smiling around here. No falling down on the job. Not when we’re so close.”

“How many more days until college?”

“Ninety-six for me, one-oh-two for you.”

“Fuuuuck,” Poe groaned.

“Just think,” Jess chirped. “This time last year, it was—”

“Stop, ok? Please—”

“Hey. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you want to just go home? Talk to your dad?”

“No. It’s too early. Mrs. Danforth will see, and then—shit shit shit!” Poe lunged over the stick shift and grabbed Jess into a sloppy kiss.

She grunted as the stick jabbed into her ribs. Poe shifted forward as far as he could, until it poked a bruise into his side instead. “Thanks,” Jess whispered. She cupped a hand around Poe’s head and kissed him again, keeping one eye cracked open to watch the rearview mirror.

The low-slung green car slid around the parking lot. Two heads craned to look at them, then disappeared back into their own car to smirk at each other. The car paused at the entrance of the road, blinkers on. Gap in traffic, rasping engine roar, and the car disappeared around the corner.

Poe sagged back into his own seat and ran a hand across his forehead. “Sorry. Forgot the stick again.”

“It’s ok. Good eyes, though. I got distracted.”

“Yeah. Well.” Poe leaned his head back against the window and closed his eyes.

“Poe—hey, come on, man. You can do this.” Jess picked her corsage up from where it fell by her feet, inspected it from all angles, artfully crushed it, and set it on the dash to pin back on before she went home. “On the bright side, you haven’t gotten pulled into the principal’s office in—”

“I was defending myself!”

“Fine, but still. You don’t even have a reputation at this school! Clearly, it’s working.”

“Yeah, but at what cost, Jess, I—”

“A few make-outs, fake boob-grabs, whatever! Just a few weeks ago you were laughing with me at how well this is going.”

“At least in middle school I was _myself,_ Jess, I—”

“Yourself? With a broken nose and bruised knuckles? Is that the real you? ‘Lesser evil,’ you said. ‘Let’s laugh at them,’ you said. Look, we’re almost home free. One hundred and two days for you. No biggie. And then before you even finish moving into your dorm room, you can ask out the first musclebound hunk you meet—”

“Shut up, Jess.” Poe whacked her, but he was laughing, finally—only slightly bitterly.

“And look, at least your dad—”

“Is amazing,” Poe supplied, with a heartfelt sigh. “Yeah. But hey, you said you’d be closer to your aunt, right?”

“Yup!” Jess forced a grin. “And then she and I can be disowned together! Yay! All of the boobs and none of the family get-togethers! Paradise.” She squinted at Poe. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”

“Suuuure,” Poe sighed. “We’re fine. We’re both fine. Everything is fine. I think we should move this to the back seat, though. Prom’ll be over soon, and the peeping eyes will be all over the place.”

“You brought the Game Boys?”

“What do you take me for?” Poe grinned. “And a pile of pillows. That seat is not big enough for the two of us.”

“Well then, Poe Dameron.” Jess popped open her door. “Go ahead. Take my virginity.”

“Looking forward to it.” Poe followed her into the back. “No no no, you take the seat. I’m good.” He stretched out on the pillows he'd stashed along the foot of the back seat.

Jess kicked off her heels before lying down along the back seat. “I would say thanks, but this means I’m still on lookout, doesn’t it?”

“Nah.” Poe grinned up at her and pointed to the mirror he had installed on the ceiling above the back seat, angled to catch their surroundings. “I got it. Relax and enjoy.”

“Oh, good,” Jess sighed. “Pay attention, or I’ll have to jump you first, and you don’t want my elbow in your—”

“I gotcha, Jess. Don’t worry about it.” Poe tossed her one of the Game Boys and turned on the other one. “Mario, Tetris, Air Force, or FIFA?”

“You ask like there’s a chance you might actually let me have the Air Force one—”

“Of course I would!” Poe protested.

“Yanking your chain, you fucker. FIFA’s great.”

“You’re going to make the team, you know. Drag your school’s asses to glory, and all that.” Poe picked out the game and handed it up to her.

“Thanks, man.” Jess folded her lips between her teeth in concentration as she inserted the cartridge and started up the game. A series of bright chirps greeted her as the screen flickers to life. Poe started up his own, more than ready to escape into the safety of a 32-bit screen.

“Poe,” Jess said, a few minutes later. “You can do this. And someday we’ll come back with our wonderful partners, out and proud and rubbing it in their fucking bigoted faces.”

Poe looked up at her. The lights of the parking lot cast a sharp golden glow over her face, accenting the elegant arc of her brows as she focused on the game.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Jess said. “You fucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied/referenced homophobia and homophobic violence.


	2. how to fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that gay adoption wasn't legal yet in 1992 in most of the United States? I always forget how recent most of the advances in gay civil rights are. 
> 
> Warning for implied homophobic violence, bullying, implied homophobic parents, and vague references to conversion therapy, as understood by a child (rest assured, this does not happen to any major characters in this fic).
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all of my classmates who were closeted in high school but were finally able to come out in college. Or, in my case, didn't even recognize their own sexuality until years later. And to the closeted students at your high school, too.

_1992 (8 years old)_

The screen door crashed against the jamb, bounced open again, and clacked shut. A rattling thunk and a pair of dull thuds: a bookbag, dropping to the floor, and kicked-off sneakers. “Home,” Poe muttered.

What happened to Poe’s usual long, drawn-out _I’m hooooooooome kapow kapow?_ Kes wondered. He nearly tripped over the wastebasket in his haste to emerge from his closet-office where he had _not_ been dozing off, definitely not. “Poe? Hey! How was school?”

“Fine.” Poe hiked himself up onto a stool at the kitchen counter. Kes dumped half a box of crackers onto a plate and slid it down the counter to him.

“You’re too young to talk like a teenager, mijo. What happened?”

“I went to school. I was at school. I came back from school.” Poe poked at the crackers, picked up a handful, stuffed them in his mouth, and turned to go. “I’m going to—”

“Hey.” Kes set a hand on Poe’s arm and spun him back around to face the counter. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Kes walked to the cupboard and pulled down a pair of cups. “Lemonade?”

Poe frowned at him. “What kind?”

“Strawberry.”

“Hmm…” Poe picked up another cracker and turned it over and over in his hands. “Ok.” He cleared his throat before Kes even asked and added, “Yes, please,” in a well-sugared tone just shy of mocking.

Kes opened the fridge with deliberate slowness. He rearranged the drinks back and forth to make a clear path, pulled the pitcher out, and set it down on the counter, still not looking at his son. Poured the strawberry lemonade as though measuring acid for a chemistry experiment: a bit more, maybe more, another tad, that looked good. He closed the lid of the pitcher. Opened the fridge. Set the pitcher back inside the fridge. Closed the door—

“I don’t want to go away,” Poe mumbled.

 _Yes, Shara, I’ve still got the magic touch._ Kes turned back to Poe and set a glass in front of him. “Why would you have to go away, mijo?”

Poe’s lip trembled. “I want to stay here. I don’t want to—”

“No one’s making you leave, Poe.” Kes rubbed his forehead. “Remember, I talked to your friends and their parents about this?” Okay, maybe _talked_ wasn’t quite strong enough, but he’d gotten his point across clearly and (mostly) politely and it hadn’t come up again, at least as far as he knew. “We came here legally, we’ve got all the documents, we’re good. No one can make us leave—”

“No!” Poe burst out. “I know that!”

“Then what—”

“They said I’d have to leave and go to California and get my brain fixed.”

“For heaven’s sake, _why?”_

“I don’t want to have a girlfriend.”

“That’s ok! You’re a little young for that, anyway. When you’re older, it’ll make a bit more sense—”

“No,” Poe growled. “I don’t want to have a girlfriend, _ever.”_

Kes shrugged. “That’s ok too. Not everyone falls in love, or gets married. Your mother and I were very lucky to find each other—”

“No!” Poe shouted. He jumped off the stool and glared at Kes, hands on his hips. “I don’t want to have a girlfriend. And I don’t want to be alone. I want to have a boyfriend.”

Kes blinked.

_Shit._

_Oh, shit._

Poe’s face crumpled. Before Kes could lunge to grab him, he raced out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the back door. Kes stumbled after him, trying to force his afternoon-nap-ready mind to catch up to the situation. By the time he ran out into the backyard after his son, Poe was already halfway up the big spruce.

“Poe!” Kes called. “Come down here! Please. So we can talk.”

“No!” Poe clung to the tree as it swayed slightly in the wind. “I don’t want my brain to be fixed. I don’t want to go to California. I don’t want to—”

“Poe,” Kes rasped. “I swear to you. I will never send you away. I will never try to fix your brain. I _promise,_ ok? Where did you even get these ideas?”

“They said it’s wrong for a boy to want a boyfriend.” Poe’s voice wavered. “And then Jess said her aunt wanted a girlfriend and that’s just as wrong and they tried to fix her brain and it didn’t work and she had to leave and go all the way to California—”

“Poe—” Kes sighed. “Look.” He scrubbed a hand back through his hair. “Most people want to be with someone of the opposite gender, right? Like me and Mamá.”

Poe nodded.

“But some people want to be with the same gender. That’s called being gay. And—and it’s a whole lot more complicated than that, but the most important part is that it’s ok. You hear me? It’s _ok._ No one’s going to make you change _anything._ Your brain doesn’t need to—to be fixed.” _Fucking hell._

“They said it’s not ok.”

“Who are you going to believe, me or them?”

Poe stared mulishly down at Kes.

“Come down here so we can talk, ok?”

Poe shook his head. He was half-hidden by needles, spiked with light and shadow. The breeze riffled through his curls, which stuck out in a crazy mess all over his head and hung down below his ears. Poe picked at the bark with one hand, poked a ball of resin, and scowled at the sticky mess on his finger. “How do you know it’s ok?” he mumbled at last.

“Well.” Kes cocked his hands on his hips. “Why do you want a boyfriend?”

Poe squinted down at him like this was a trick question. “Because I like boys.”

“And is it bad to like people?”

“Nooooo,” Poe said reluctantly.

“Then why would it be bad to be gay?”

“They said it was,” Poe muttered, and punched the trunk. His voice had that particular waver to it, identifiable even from several meters below, that meant he was trying desperately not to cry.

And that was the end of it, wasn’t it. It didn't matter if Kes said it’s ok. It didn't even matter if Poe believed him. The other children said it’s not ok. And they could make Poe’s life a living hell.

And it was clear to Kes, very suddenly: there was very little he could do to protect Poe from this.

He sat down suddenly onto the dry grass, winded. _“Poe.”_ His voice cracked. “Mijo. Come down here. Please.”

Poe wrapped his arms tighter around the trunk, leaned his forehead against the bark, closed his eyes, and said something.

“What?” Kes sat up straighter, struggling to hear Poe over the low drone of the lawn mower next door.

“Would Mamá be disappointed?” Poe asked again, very quiet.

“No,” Kes rasped. He cleared his throat. “God, _no,_ Poe. She’ll always love you. No matter what. And she’ll love your boyfriend too, when you meet him someday. She’ll be looking down at the two of you and smiling so hard, I promise you.”

Poe looked down at him. Without any warning he was sliding down the trunk, scraping his palms against the bark, dropping from limb to limb to ground with a barefoot rattle on the dry leaves. Kes opened his arms to his son. Poe ran to him and buried his face in Kes’ chest. Kes cupped the back of Poe’s head in his hand and let his son pretend he was not crying one bit, no sir, not him.

 _What do I do?_ Kes wondered. _Oh, fuck. What can I possibly do?_ He bowed his head atop Poe’s. The coarse curls still smelled like pine resin, crisp and sharp.

 _I really wanted grandkids,_ was all he wanted to say.

 _So?_ Shara, or at least the part of his heart that still felt like Shara, chucked him in the shoulder. _If you want to run after something cute and wipe piss off the floor, get a puppy._

Kes snorted.

_Right now, you have a son._

_We do._ Kes held onto Poe as tightly as he could. _We do. Thank fuck, we do._

 

 

 

_1993 (9 years old)_

After a long morning of wandering through the Metropolitan Museum of Art on their second day in Manhattan, Kes let Poe pick a cafe for lunch. They admired the books lining the walls of the tiny cafe, settled into a pair of rickety chairs, and flipped through the brightly illustrated menu. Poe decided first, folded his menu shut with a papery clap, looked out the window—and bolted from his seat straight out the door.

“Hey—whoa whoa whoa, Poe, get back here!” Kes lurched out of his seat at the cafe, flapped a hand at the concerned waiter, and crashed out the door after Poe. Left? Right? There he was.

Poe was halfway down the block, waving frantically at a couple walking away. “Hey!” Poe shouted. “Hey!”

The men stopped, dropped each others’ hands, and turned around. “Um…hey there?” One smiled down at Poe, bemused. “What do you want?”

“Sorry, buddy,” the other said in a soft Texan drawl. “We can’t offer you money. But we can get you some food or something if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not a beggar.” Poe scowled at them, then stuck out his hand. “I wanted to say hi. I’m Poe.”

The men exchanged a glance. The first leaned down to shake Poe’s hand, other hand resting casually on his wallet. “Nice to meet you, Poe. I’m Josh.”

“Nice to meet you, Josh,” Poe said, chin held high. “I’m Poe.”

“You said that already, buddy,” the other grinned. “I’m Phillip.” He shook Poe’s hand with a broad grin, then straightened up and took Josh’s hand again. “What do you need?”

Poe just stared up at them. “I—” His eyes fell to their joined hands and stay there. “I just—” He stopped.

Kes stepped forward from where he was been watching just down the sidewalk. “I’ve been telling my son that there are places in this world where it’s ok for a man to have a boyfriend,” he said quietly.

Phillip’s brows shot up to his hairline. He crouched down to Poe’s level. “You want a boyfriend?”

Poe nodded, one short sharp jerk.

“Then a boyfriend you shall have,” Josh said. Poe’s eyes flicked up to him. “Your dad’s right. I grew up in Connecticut, right in the middle of Rich-People-Ville.” He snorted. “You could be anything you wanted, so long as it was white and rich and straight and Christian. Fortunately, I moved here and found Phil. Sounds like you were maybe born in the same town as I was.”

Kes nodded. “Substitute _poor_ for _rich,_ maybe add a Latino or Asian option, and you’ve got the right idea.”

Phillip made a face. “Sorry about that. I mean, I grew up in Austin, which is a pretty awesome place to be gay, so I don’t have a whole lot of first-hand experience with bigots. But I’ve heard plenty of stories.” He exchanges a glance with Josh. “Soon as you’re in college, man—I mean, as long as you pick an open-minded school—life gets _sooooo_ much better, you have no idea.”

“Damn right it did.” Josh smiled. “So. See you around the city again, kid. All right? Someday when you’re out and proud and we’re—”

“Out and proud and reeeeeally old,” Phillip cut in with a crooked grin. “It was nice to meet you, buddy.”

Poe nodded. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Good luck, Poe,” Josh told him, and nodded at Kes. “You too, Poe’s dad.”

“Thank you.” Kes smiled at them, eyes stinging. “Thank you both so much.”

“No problem,” Phillip said. With a wave, Josh and Phillip walked on down the street, still hand in hand. Kes looked down at Poe.

“Lunchtime,” Poe said, and headed back inside the cafe, mouth set and only slightly trembling.

Kes retrieved his menu from beneath his chair, where it must have fallen in his haste to follow Poe. “So, mijo,” he said, ostensibly reading through the options. “What do you think?”

Poe took a giant gulp of his water and set the glass down with a clink. “I think,” he said, “I would like to have a roast beef pinanani, please—”

“Panini—” Kes supplied.

“That too,” Poe continued, unperturbed. “And I think I really like New York City. Thank you for taking me. Can we come back someday?”

“No guarantees, mijo, but I’ll keep it on the list.”

“Cool. And I think I would like to go to an ‘open-minded college.’” Poe enunciated each word with care. “Is there a list of those somewhere?”

 

 

 

_April 5, 1997 (13 years old)_

The living room was suspiciously quiet. Maybe Poe had just turned off the TV? Maybe he was actually doing homework? But Boy Meets World was still on, so that wasn’t very likely. Kes soft-footed across the kitchen floor, but his shoe squeaked on the wax-polished wood just before he reached the entrance to the living room. When he poked his head around the corner, Poe had a textbook open in his lap and one hand on the remote.

The channel change back to Boy Meets World too fast for Kes to get a good look at it, but he was thirteen once. It didn't take a genius to figure out what type of show Poe had been watching. Although how he found the good stuff at 5pm…who the hell knows. These days, they’ll show anything at any hour.  He continued on to the dining room, as though he meant to go there all along, and pulled out a bowl from the cupboard. Apparently they were having pasta in a nice bowl tonight? Well, why the hell not.

Five minutes later, Kes took off his shoes and slipped past the living room entrance again. Poe was leaning forward toward the TV, utterly rapt. The textbook was shoved aside, in favor of a pad of paper, where Poe was hurriedly scratching notes. And on the screen?

A woman demonstrated self-defense moves against a burly figure covered in foam pads.

Kes must have made some sound of surprise, because Poe fumbled for the remote and changed the channel, fast as possible. He opened his textbook again, shoulders up by his ears. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped.

“Yeah, you were.” Kes stared at him. “Why—” He scrubbed a hand back through his hair. “Why did you want to watch a self-defense class?”

Poe shrugged, eyes on the textbook. Kes watched him. There had been a new slump to his shoulders these past few weeks. “When we went to the lake yesterday,” Kes said at last, voice low. “And you had bruises on your back. You said you tripped on the stairs at school.”

Poe nodded.

“You want to tell me what actually happened?”

“I tripped,” Poe growled. “On the stairs.”

Kes cocked his hands on his hips. “Ok, then _why_ did you trip on the stairs?”

Poe stared down at the textbook. Kes waited.

“They wouldn’t let me by,” Poe mumbled at last. “And they wouldn’t let me go back down, either. So I punched them. But I don’t know how to fight!” He looked up at Kes now, pleading. “I need to know how to fight. Please, Papá—”

“Fighting’s not going to help anything! Beat them off and they’ll come back for you with reinforcements.”

“This isn’t war, Papá—”

“Might as well be. The one who wins is the one who can afford to keep escalating. Which is them, not you. You’re only one person—”

“So I should just lay down and let them beat me up?”

“No,” Kes said, very quiet. “I’m so sorry they’re hurting you. We will find another solution. But—”

“If I fight back, they’ll know I’m not helpless!” Poe jumped to his feet. The notepad slid to the floor, forgotten.

“Your mother and I didn’t come here for you to get involved in more violence—”

“But they’re targeting _me!”_ Poe roared. “I didn’t choose this.” His voice cracked.

“I _know_ you didn’t—”

“Then let me defend myself!” Poe shouted, toe-to-toe with Kes, cheeks flushed.

Kes stared him down. “I will talk to their parents,” he said, quiet and final. “And I will talk to the principal. This will not happen again. But the only way to ensure that it doesn’t happen is to _talk,_ ok? Mijo. Keep fighting, and you’ll just keep getting hurt. There’s always a better way to solve problems.”

“And what if it doesn't work?” Poe growled. “If they don’t stop?”

“Then—” Kes took a deep breath, then let it out. “Then I will teach you how to fight.”

 

 

 

_May 17, 1997 (13 years old)_

By the time Kes rolled up to the parking lot by the baseball field, the sun had been down for nearly an hour. The floodlights cast sharp shadows across the field, highlighting the ball-capped boys gathering their things and piling into cars. Kes leaned back in his seat and waited for Poe, who was late as usual. He squinted into the dim dugout, trying to make out his son’s features among the last few boys gathering their things from the dugout. They slung out together in a pack, four of them, ruddy-cheeked and tall, knees streaked with green from sliding into base.

Kes rolled down his window. “Hey, Robbie,” he called to the one he knew. “How’d practice go?”

Robbie shrugged. “It was cool.”

“Do you know where Poe is?”

“Think he went to take a leak?” Robbie jerked his chin towards the portable toilets beyond the field. He sloped off towards his parents’ waiting car, elbowing his friends and laughing about something.

Kes covered a yawn behind his hand and craned his neck to see the portable toilets, but a pair of dumpsters blocked his view. Poe wasn't walking back from there, at any rate. Kes looked back at the boys—last bag thunked into the back seat, car door slammed, weary parent peeled out of the parking lot towards home. The dugout was empty now, the field abandoned—and Kes had a very, _very_ bad feeling about this.

He got out of the car and headed toward the portable toilets—slowly, then faster, then nearly running, swerved around the pair of dumpsters—and stumbled to a halt.

Poe’s body was lying on the concrete beneath the dumpsters, bruised and bloody and very still. “Poe!” Kes croaked. His breath punched out, winded, as he lunged toward his son _—oh thank fuck thank fuck thank fuck._ Poe lifted his head, put a hand to it, cracked an eye open, and squinted out into the night.

“Mijo.” Kes fell to his knees. “Are you—” He patted Poe down with frozen precision, checking for injuries, half his mind suddenly back in the civil war.

“I wasn’t fighting.” Poe flinched back when Kes’ hands hit a particularly deep bruise. He sat up on the concrete, unable to meet Kes’ eyes.

“What happened,” Kes ordered. “Can you move everything, does anything hurt really bad, did you hit your head—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Poe bit out. “I wasn’t fighting. Nothing hit my head. It’s fine. I’m sorry.” He licked his split lip and winced. “Can we—I just—”

“Ok,” Kes said, very gentle. “Ok, mijo. Let’s get you home.” Ignoring the ache in his knees, he pushed to his feet and gave Poe a hand up. As they walked to the car, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Poe’s lip trembled, then hardened. The clench of his jaw was so _Shara_ —Kes nearly lost his footing on the dark hillocks of grass.

Kes almost missed the words beneath the rattle-thunk of the old car doors. “What?” he said, dazed.

“They called me a fa—”

“We do not say that word,” Kes growled. “Not now. Not ever.”

Poe stared out the windshield. “I told them to fuck off,” he said. _We don’t say that, either,_ Kes thought, but that’s not important now. Poe’s shoulders rose, then fell. “They punched me. I punched them back.”

“It was the four of them?” Kes asked. “Robbie and his gang?” Questions, that’s the way. Ask questions to keep himself from screaming.

Poe nodded, short and sharp.

 _I AM GOING TO FUCK THEM UP_. _AND THEIR PARENTS, TOO._ “I’m so sorry, mijo,” Kes said, very soft. “You were right to fight back, in that case. Or, well—you should have run, or screamed. But—” He pulled in a deep breath. “We can talk about that later. What to do. If—” His eyes flicked to Poe, then back to the road. His son’s left eye was already swelling shut. “If this happens again,” Kes managed. “But it won’t. I’ll talk to them, and their parents. They will apologize. And they will never do anything like this, ever again.”

“Right.”

Kes looked down at Poe. The red traffic light cast an eerie tinge across his face, slurring over the bruises and stuttering across the pair of lacerations on his cheek. The light turned green. Kes looked back at the road and hit the gas again. “I’m sorry,” he said _. “Mijo._ I’m so sorry.”

“You said you would teach me,” Poe said, low and hard.

 _We came here to get away from violence,_ Kes pleaded.

 _We came here to protect Poe,_ Shara said, hands on her hips. _Right now, this is what he needs. I hope you remember the secret to my left undercut._

Kes cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yes. I’ll teach you how to fight. But we’re also going to talk to the principal again, and to all of their parents. So you can be safe.”

Poe’s eyes cut up to him, then back to the darkened street. “Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t thank me,” Kes sighed. “Thank your mother.”

 

 

 

_June 16th, 1998 (14 years old)_

“Poe,” Jess hissed. “I need to talk to you.”

“So talk.” Poe relaxes back on the couch and yawned.

“No, like—” Jess craned her head as though she could see into Kes’ closet-office. _In private,_ she mouthed to Poe.

Poe’s brows snapped together. He sprang up off the couch and gave her a hand up. _Tree,_ he mouthed back. “Come on, Pava,” he said. “It’s too hot in here. Let’s go outside.”

The were too big to get as high up into the smaller branches of the spruce as they used to be able to, but they still squeezed up as high as seems safe.

“Get down from there, you idiot,” Jess hissed. She tugged on Poe’s leg. “Not worth breaking your neck.”

Poe grumbled and dropped back down to her level. “So?” he asked. He ran a hand through his hair to check for resin and winced when he found a small clump. “Shit.”

“Poe,” Jess said, then stopped.

Poe stopped futzing with his hair and looked at her. “Hey,” he said. “What the hell happened to you? Are you ok?”

“I—I just—”

“Jess.”

“You remember what I told you. About my aunt.”

Poe’s eyes snapped to hers, dark and serious. He nodded. Jess scratched at the spruce’s bark with shaking hands. “I,” she said again. “I’m—I’m the same. A—”

“Really?” Poe’s mouth dropped open.

Jess nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“You think I’d joke about it?”

“No—no, I guess not, I—fucking goddamn shit.”

Jess’ eyes flashed up to his, impressed. “I didn’t even know you knew those words.”

“Do your parents know?”

Jess shook her head. _“I_ didn't even know. Until, like. Three weeks ago.”

“Well, shit.” Poe reached a hand to her with a small, trembling smile. “Congratulations? On figuring it out. I’m sorry about your parents. I’m so sorry. But—” He leaned his forehead against the trunk of the spruce and closed his eyes. “Is it bad that I’m really glad you’re—”

“On your team?” Jess smirked at him. “Well. I’m really glad we’re friends, because otherwise I don’t know what I would do.” She swallowed hard. “They would—I don’t—”

“Jess.”

“I don’t want to—”

 _“Jess._ Can’t you—I mean—” Poe punched the tree. “It sucks, I know, and I’m not saying this to be funny or anything, but since they don’t know yet—can you just hide?” His jaw tightened. “Until you graduate and leave home, at least.”

“They’re suspicious,” Jess muttered. “They want me to have a boyfriend. My mom keeps, like. Asking questions. But like—if I have a boyfriend—he’ll want to—” Jess made a face. “But if I don’t, they’ll—they’ll—”

“You could always come live with us.”

Jess shook her head. “They’d come back to get me. And then they’d—”

“Jess.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Jess’ voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do!”

Poe picked at a lump of resin on the spruce’s trunk, mouth set. He had that look in his eyes again, fierce and focused, the one that signaled to Jess that shit was about to get real.

“I have an idea,” Poe said. “But it’s, um. Kind of crazy.”

 

 

 

_September 19th, 2000 (16 years old)_

“I’m going to hell for what I say about you in the bathroom,” Poe muttered. He took another massive bite of his sandwich and kicked his feet against the small stone bridge.

Jess cackled. She flung an olive from her cold slice of pizza down into the crackling stream below them and watched a swarm of waterbugs gather around it. “Well.” The olive slowly started to sink beneath the surface of the water. “If so, then I’ll meet you there. I told Marissa and Caitlyn yesterday that you’re really big. Like—” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I got it the first time, thank you.” Poe bit his lip against a laugh, but quickly lost the battle. He toppled backwards onto the bridge, breathless with laughter. “Well,” he gasped at last. “That’s a good thing, because apparently you’re good at, uh—” He stopped. “I really am going to hell,” he said, laughter gone.

Jess looked at him. “You don’t even believe in hell.”

“Well, no, but—” Poe waves a hand. “Still. It’s wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Jess shrugged. “It’s ok, man. We each do what we need to do. We agreed on that.”

Poe sighed. The breeze picked up overhead, tossing dappled shade across his face and back again. “I wish I were better at resisting,” he said, very soft. “But when one of them asks a question, and it’s all of them looking at me, looming over me, I just—I just—cave. Like, what is this, an interrogation? I should be able to stand up for us. And I can’t.”

“We can call the game off, if you want,” Jess said, very soft.

“What? No!” Poe sat up. “If your family found out about you, they’d—”

“See?” One corner of Jess’ mouth slowly twitched up. “You are standing up for me. Which I appreciate, by the way. I like having a bed to sleep in.”

Poe opened his mouth, then shut it again. He stared down into the rushing stream. A leaf fell, floated downstream, disappeared beneath their feet. “Yeah?” he said at last. “Yeah. Huh. I guess.” He paused for a moment. “You know, you could always come live with us. I’m sure Dad would—”

Jess shook her head, short and stubborn. “Nah. I’m fine. Anyway, they’d come drag me back. With consequences this time, and I don’t—I just—” She bit her lip, eyes glittering. “I don’t want them to be disappointed in me,” she whispered.

Poe leaned his shoulder against hers. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s—” Jess shrugged it off. “Whatever. They’re going to hate me once they find out, anyway. I just don’t—I don’t want to have to live with them when it happens.”  

“Okay,” Poe said softly. “That makes sense. Offer still stands, if you ever need. You know. Just in case.”

“Thanks, man.”

Poe sighed. “Oh,” he said. “I keep forgetting to ask you. At the dance this Friday. What do you want me to do? What are you, like—”

“Comfortable with?” Jess shrugged. “No tongue.”

Poe cackled.

“I think you should probably feel me up, at least once. Preferably when Alyssa’s looking, because she’s been asking me weird questions about us lately. Would you be—”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

“Ok. And, you know. They usually keep the music pretty fast so no one gets into anything. I think we’ll be ok. It’s your dancing skills I’m worried about. I’m going to need to give you remedial lessons or something like that, one of these days.”

“I hate dancing,” Poe muttered. “I don’t understand it. Especially not this kind. Just, like, wiggle your butt, and try to be cool, and shit. Like, do you look people in the eye? Do you—”

Jess laughed so hard Poe worried for a moment that she was going to fall off the bridge. “Never change, dude,” she gasped at last, wiping her eyes. “Never change.”

 

 

_November 27, 2002 (18 years old)_

_“What?”_ Jess whirled on him. “Are you fucking kidding me? What happened to ‘fuck their stupid, bigoted asses?’”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Ok, fine, but the sentiment was there. I heard it. And now you’re—”

“People are _hurting out_ there, Jess,” Poe sighed.

Jess folded her arms across her chest. “And you think dropping bombs is the way to help them?”

“What else can I do? I want to make a difference. Who else is going to defend them?”

“But that’s not going to help any—” Jess punched a cupboard. “Look. We can argue politics later. I just—you realize what this means, right? You just got to college. You were so excited to—”

“Of course I realize what it means! Jess.” Poe scraped a hand back through his hair. “DADT sucks, ok? Of course it fucking sucks. But it’s no different from high school—no, actually, it’s better than high school. No one can bully me. I won’t need a fake story. I can just not say anything, and I’ll be safe. And anyway, ROTC is only four years, and I won’t be in the Air Force forever. And I think—I _really_ think it’s worth it.”

“I saw what your face did when I said I had a girlfriend.”

Poe glowered at her. “Look.” He rubbed his forehead. “Of course I’m jealous. But this is more important. I talked to the ROTC officer. Tried out the sim. It’s just like the computer game, but— _oh god,_ Jess. It’s amazing.”

Jess leaned her elbow on the counter and propped her chin in her hand. “Better than being who you fucking _are_ , Poe?”

“Jess—”

“No!” Jess threw up her hands and paced across the kitchen. “Poe, this is bullshit. This is such bullshit! Don’t come crying to me when you’re—”

“Jess.” Poe leaned against the counter and waited for her to turn back to him. “I’m doing this. Ok?”

“What did your dad say?”

“He…reacted pretty similarly, I guess. Without the shouting and profanity. But he’s going to support me, like always. Oh, speaking of which—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jess flapped a hand at him. “Financial aid came through, I’ve got a job at a coffeeshop—it’ll be fine. Don’t distract me. I’m not done yelling at you yet.”

“Ok.” Poe took down a pair of glasses, cracked open the fridge, and pulled out a pitcher of his dad’s mint lemonade. “Want some lemonade?”

“Yes, you fucker. Are you—” Jess shook her head. “You’re sure about this.”

“Yes.” Poe turned back to her. “I am.” He grinned suddenly. “That’ll be Air Force Fucker, first class, to you one of these days.”

“Fuck you,” Jess sighed. “Just—Poe.” She stopped. “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

“Worried about me, Pava?”

“Nah, you dumbass.” Jess grabbed him into an unexpected hug. “Just.” She cleared her throat. “Be safe out there. If you get killed, I will put the hugest, rainbow-est garland you have ever seen on your tombstone.”

Poe winced. “Noted.”

“And don’t forget who you are.”

“Jess.” Poe pulled back, took her by the shoulders. “I know who I am.”

“Self-sacrificing noble idiot, that’s who you are.”

Poe laughed. “Nah. I just want to play with planes.”

“Poe.”

“Jess.” He grinned at her. “I’ll invite you to the wedding someday, ok? Matching red suits, just like you said.”

“Riiight.” Jess sighed. “Like this country’s ever going to let a pair of dudes get married.”

Poe shrugged. “Stranger things have happened?”

“Fuck you,” Jess groaned. “Your optimism is giving me a hernia.” She whacked Poe’s arm and turned to the liquor cabinet. “You going to spike that lemonade, or do I have to do all the work around here?”


	3. bend or break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for parental grief, gun violence, and graphic torture.

_November 1st, 2010 (38 days until Poe comes home for annual leave)_

Kes angled the pair of ayote jack-o’-lanterns towards each other on the table, stepped back, adjusted the angle very slightly, stepped back again, called it good enough, and lit the candles inside them. Satisfied with the warm flickery glow they cast across the table, he turned back to the kitchen to finish chopping meat for the vast platters of fiambre hanging half off the counters. Checked the clock—still a few minutes to go until the hordes arrive for the annual Dameron Halloween-Día de los Muertos party.

As a final touch, Kes cut one radish in the shape of a baseball, just as he did the first time Poe had insisted that they combine the holidays and invite everyone they knew so his friends and their families could see how much fun Día de los Muertos was and his parents could see how much fun Halloween was. The first party had been a rousing success, so an annual tradition had been born.

Even without Shara to cook the tamales (Kes had tried, swept them into the trash, agreed with himself to never mention the matter again, and accepted some from Poe’s abuela the next time), or even Poe’s laughter echoing out from the mudroom as he greeted each new guest, Kes still upheld the tradition. Memory was, after all, part of the point of Día de los Muertos. A candle in front of Shara’s picture wasn’t enough for him, this time of year. A party? Now _that_ was something any self-respecting Dameron could get behind.

The doorbell rang. Kes wiped his hands and went to the door. “You’re early!” he called. “I hope you brought candy!” He swung the door open, caught himself against the jamb, and sagged against it, gut-punched.

A crisp-uniformed officer stood on his step, flanked by a chaplain and a medic. Kes shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. Please. Not Poe. Please, for the love of—”

 

 

 

Kes sat at the kitchen table, head between his knees. The chaplain rested a hand on his shoulder. Kes thought about biting it. Sinking his teeth in, throwing a wild punch at the medic, picking up the chair and beating the officer out the door.

He thought about curling into a ball in the middle of Poe’s bed, covering himself with Poe’s quilt, and imagining it still held Poe’s familiar scent. He thought about going back to the morning, when he relit Shara’s candle and read Poe’s latest email aloud to her.

He thought about lighting a candle for Poe. He thought about throwing up. He thought about—

The doorbell rang again. This time, it was the metallic chime of the back door, the one that abutted the Pavas’ yard. Kes staggered to his feet and crossed through the living room. “Party’s canceled!” he roared at the back door. “Over! Go home.”

“What?” It was Jess. “What happened? Kes? Are you ok?”

“Get out of here, get—go, you—get out of here!”

Silence. A moment later, the door opened. Jess slipped the spare key back underneath the loose tile on the patio and stepped inside. “Kes,” she said. “What—” Her eyes flitted beyond him and caught on the silent forms of the army officers who accompanied Kes to the living room. For a moment she just stared, eyes wide, mouth parted, lips trembling. She reached a hand to Kes. Kes took it. She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him as tightly as she could.

 

 

 

Jess assured the officers that she could take over from that point. She sent a text to all of the guests, called the non-texters, ushered away from the house the few who didn’t get any of the messages, and helped Kes take down the party. It was easier to keep busy, to focus on what needed to be done. To make sure that Kes was as ok as could be expected. She urged him to drink something, eat something, sit down, sleep. He spent most of the afternoon curled up on the couch, staring at the bookcase. Clutching Poe’s two-legged bunny toy, BB-2, and the one with four legs, BB-4, tightly to his chest.

The only decorations Jess couldn't bring herself to get rid of were the ayote jack-’o-lanterns. She lit another candle before the one with carved tousled hair, sat in front of it, and buried her face in her arms.

 

 

 

Jess was silent at the funeral. As the rest of the guests paid their respects to Kes and turned, one by one, to leave, she ran back to her car. Opened the trunk, pulled the garland out with a grunt and a stumble, and carefully made her way back to the others slowly, balancing it on her head. By the time she set it down before the stone, the crowd was nearly gone. Kes stared down at it with a deep furrow in his brow, then looked at her.

Jess looked back at him, defiant. Kes nodded. Patted her shoulder. Nodded again.

 

 

 

A month later, when she went to clear away the snow from Poe’s grave, the garland shone up at her from beneath the soft flakes, all the colors of the rainbow and more.

 

 

 

_October 31st, 2010 (37 days until Poe goes home for annual leave)_

He shouldn’t have survived the crash. Too far, too fast, too hot. Somehow, he managed to eject just in time and plummeted to the ground beneath a billowing parachute. He stumbled to his feet, unbuckled the harness, and took stock. Deep behind enemy lines. Bruised and battered. The parachute harness cut deep lines into his skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” someone said from behind him.

Poe whirled, raised his gun—

“Really not a good idea,” the man continued. A gang of hostile combatants emerged, armed with assault rifles.

Poe shot at them anyway. Someone else shot him. A burst of fire in his calf—he wavered. He swung at them when they came for him, but they had him surrounded and he was already bleeding and dizzy and fuck fuck fuck it _hurt_ and he landed a punch or two but he couldn't kick and then the ground came up fast to meet him and they beat him with the butts of their rifles and the only thing he could do was curl in on himself, arms over his head, and try to breathe. He retched from the pain, retched again. They dragged him to his feet. Zip-tied his hands behind his back. Pointed a pair of rifles at his back. Kicked him until he started walking.

He walked.

Thought of trying to make a run for it. They would shoot him down, of course. That was probably better than what was to come.

But he didn't want to die.

As the light faded, he fell. Couldn’t push to his feet fast enough to avoid the burst of pain from a rifle blow to his shoulder. Fell again, took two tries to rise to his feet. He had no memory of the last—however many miles it was. He just knew that they shoved him into a tiny room that reeked of sewage and fuck knew what else.

And then he was left alone, all alone, in the dark.

 

 

 

They starved him first—probably to weaken him before they started in on him for real. They untied his hands before any serious nerve damage, thankfully, and wrapped the wound in his calf well enough to keep him from bleeding out on the filthy floor. He wasn’t sure how grateful he was. After four days of no food and very little water, Poe was dizzy, nauseous with hunger and pain and fear.

He still fought when they come for him, fierce and furious, balancing on one foot.

They subdued him easily, force-marched him to a separate building, and chained him to a table in the middle of a larger room. The lights were blinding. They glinted off the man’s set of knives. Poe couldn't see his face beneath the mask. There was no chance he would answer the man’s questions with honest answers. He talked back instead, spat, cursed. By the time his stomach was a mess of deep gashes, sticky with blood, he had lost the ability to form coherent words. He just screamed, over and over and over again.

No one came for him.

 

 

 

But he didn't break. Not when they sliced open his chest, peeled back the skin as though dissecting him, and left him there for hours. Not when they dripped acid onto his thighs and let it burn its way through layers of skin and muscle. Not even when they yoked him to a post in the middle of the room and flayed most of the skin off his back.

He sagged against the tall pole, slipping in and out of consciousness. Something dripped down his back. The man was shouting at him. Poe wasn’t sure why the man still thought there was a chance he'd ever break. The wound in his calf was infected. It would kill him, sooner or later. Or maybe blood loss, that was a thing, right? His brain wouldn’t cooperate anymore, but he was pretty sure that—

The whip cracked again. Another line of fire sliced across his back. Poe screamed.

 

 

 

They treated the infection. Left the rest. His first escape attempt ended with a broken wrist, a bloody gash in his temple, and a fist-sized bruise across his cheekbone. Back in the filthy hut, he set the wrist as best he could, wrapping the remains of his shirt beneath the cuffs to stabilize it. Maybe he’d be able to use it again someday, when he was home again. Maybe he’d actually be alive then.

His second escape attempt ended with him cuffed hand-to-foot, curled in a tight, aching ball on the floor, gagged and blindfolded and denied food for another four days. By the time they came for him again, he was almost glad of the respite. Standing hurt like a motherfucker. His legs wouldn’t hold his weight anymore, but that didn’t really matter.

So they dragged him back to their torture room instead, which—surprise! also hurt like a motherfucker. Not that he would know, of course—he’d never fucked anyone’s mother, which he probably mumbled at some point in the proceedings, because he may have had difficulty stringing words together and making sounds come out of his scream-wrecked throat, but he’d snark back at his captors until the day he died.   

There was a branding iron, a hot poker, maybe a torch. Maybe they just poured kerosene on his skin and lit it on fire. Poe wasn’t really sure, and he didn't really care anymore. It hurt, ok? It hurt. His brain was not functioning. He was screaming, maybe? He could hear something sizzling, like meat on a grill. Smelled like meat on a grill, too. Maybe he was at a barbecue.

No, someone was yelling at him. Answer the question. Answer the question! Poe wasn’t sure what the question was, or how to form the answer on his tongue. Another sizzle, and Poe screamed again—he was pretty sure the sound was coming from his own mouth. Everything blurred together.

 

 

 

His body was a mess. It was ok, though, because it didn't really belong to him. He tried to escape again, just because—because that’s who he was. Or used to be. When he came to again, there was a small puddle of blood by his head. It hurt too much to turn over, so he just lay there, staring at the floor.

There was a spider, sometimes. He stared at it for hours. Maybe it stared back. Who knows. He talked to it, in his head, sometimes out loud. It was so nice to not feel alone, even just for a moment.

He slept when he could. Woke again when the pain was too much. Screamed, sometimes, just because he could. Sometimes they came for him. Tried to break him again. Sometimes they left him alone for days, weeks, maybe even months on end, he wasn’t sure, it didn't really matter. He was alive, he was pretty sure? He wasn’t sure why.

 

 

 

_November 4th, 2011 (369 days since Poe died)_

The doorbell rang. Kes checked the apartment peephole first before opening it. He’d learned his lesson. If he hadn’t opened the door that day—

“Get out of here!” His voice cracked. “I only had one son.”

“We believe he may be alive.” Even through the door, the officer’s voice came through strong and clear.

Kes yanked the door open.

“We just received a report this morning that Commander Dameron may have been taken hostage. It will be on the news this evening or tomorrow morning. We came here to tell you first, so you’re prepared.”

“Hostage,” Kes said. He was sitting at his studio’s tiny kitchen table. Not quite sure how he got there.

“Yes. He appears to have survived the crash. The militia captured him and have held him since then. We haven’t received very detailed reports yet. We’re working on a deal to get him free.”

“Working on a deal,” Kes said, still trying to figure out which way was up.

“It may not go through,” the officer said quietly. “We can’t guarantee anything. But—” She leaned forward, grey eyes intent on Kes. “I assure you, sir, we will do everything in our power to bring your son home.”

“You’d better,” Kes said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs always available in the comments. <3


	4. we both will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implied past torture, hospitals, mentions of scars.

_November 6th, 2011_

When they came for him again, he still couldn't walk. No surprise there. They dragged him instead. Also, no surprise. His head hung between his shoulders, because he couldn't quite figure out how to hold it up. The trip across the compound seemed to stretch on and on, farther than usual, miles and miles—or maybe just a few meters? He was tired. So tired.

At last they stopped. There were voices, shouting, cursing, a few gunshots. A different set of hands on him. The cuffs fell off. Someone carried him, maybe. Rise and fall of steps. Heartbeat near his ear. Then something horizontal, and relatively soft. More shouting. Impossibly loud noise, rush of air—helicopter, his brain supplied. MD 500, from the sound of it. Powerplant: 420 hp Allison 250-C20B Turboshaft. Rate of climb: 1,650 feet per minute. He wasn’t quite sure how he could remember that, but not his own name.

 

 

 

The hospital was painfully bright. People talked to him. Sometimes he answered their questions. Sometimes he stared at the ceiling, trying to remember how to be a normal human being. Apparently his name was Poe. Apparently it had been thirteen months. He wasn’t sure how to account for the months he didn't remember. Had he been staring at the ceiling the whole time?

Probably.

Sometimes he closed his eyes and saw the spider. Was it still alive, he wondered? Had it made a web in the corner of the cell, by that dark red stain? Did it have a cluster of babies now?

He talked to it sometimes, when the world was too much. Remembered it looking at him with its bulbous eyes, small head round body eight skittering legs.

 

 

 

_November 8th, 2011 (Two days after Poe was rescued)_

The door to his room creaked open. Poe blinked awake. Squinted at the figure in the doorway, reached out a hand—ok, no, just the tips of his fingers, he was tired, so tired, it was all he had. “Papá,” he croaked. _“Papá!”_

“Poe.” Kes stumbled into the chair beside Poe’s bed, grabbed onto Poe’s hand, and held it tight. His son’s face was battered and gaunt, nearly unrecognizable. There was an IV in his hand, a monitor on his heart, bandages on every bit of exposed skin. But he was alive. _Alive_. “Thank God.” Kes bent his head over Poe’s hand. “Oh, thank God.”

Poe bit his lip hard against tears, but they fell anyway. In the hospital, with the beeping monitor and IV line and distant window and white sheets, he had just been—numb. It had been so long, so lonely, so terrifying—but now his dad was here, his dad, his _dad_ , with him, and Poe—just—

His dad fumbled a tissue out of his pocket and wiped Poe’s tears, gentle over the bruises and lacerations.

“Papá.” Poe’s voice scraped in his throat. His hand tightened around Kes’. _I didn’t think I would ever get out of there,_ he wanted to say. _I didn’t want to die. But it hurt. It hurt so badly. It still hurts._ “Papá,“ he said instead. _“Papá.”_

When Poe looked up, Kes was crying too.

 

 

 

_November 10th, 2011 (Four days after Poe was rescued)_

“Hi there!” A new nurse bustled into his room and smiled at him. “How’re we doing tonight? My name’s Nicole. I’ll be your night nurse for the next few days, ok?”

“Do I have a choice?” Poe asked.

Nicole straightened up from her cart and blinked at him. “What? If you—”

Kes looked down at Poe, alarmed, halfway ready to shoo Nicole from the room and ask for a different nurse. “Mijo. You all right?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m sorry. It’s just that—everyone keeps asking ‘ok?’ and then doing it anyway, like there’s no chance I’ll say no. I just thought I’d check.”

“Oh.” Nicole started checking his vitals. “Well, of course you can say no. We can assign another nurse to you, if there’s a problem—”

“No, no.” Poe’s jaw clenched as he submitted to her ministrations. “It’s ok. I’m sorry. Never mind.” His eyes flitted between Nicole, her cart, and the open door as though planning a route of escape.

“Do I pass inspection?” Poe asked as she reclosed his gown over the monitors, and Kes finally got it.

“At least five points off for mouthiness,” he rasped. He was rewarded with the tiny hint of a smile from his son.

“You’re doing fine, hun,” Nicole said, and patted his foot. Poe flinched. “But I expect a real joke out of you next time.”

“I’ll get my best people on it,” Poe snorted. As Nicole backed her cart out of the room, he slumped back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

“I’m just going to—” Kes motioned vaguely towards the door. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Poe’s eyes flickered open, then shut again. “Yeah, of course. You can go home, you know. Thank you for being here. I don’t need—” A muscle twitched in his jaw. He lifted a hand towards it, then let it fall back, exhausted.

“I’m all right, mijo. I’ll go home when I need to.”

“Thank you,” Poe murmured, already half-asleep. Kes eased out of the room as quietly as he could, headed down the hall toward the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, leaned his head against the door, and lost it completely.

 

 

 

Several minutes later, Kes finally left the stall and went to wash his face.

A nurse was there, washing his hands with meticulous care. “Doing all right, sir?” he asked.

Kes nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. I thought this bathroom was empty at this hour.”

“We’ll be here all night,” the nurse— _Daveed,_ according to his nametag—said with an easy smile. “You’re Mr. Dameron, aren’t you? You look just like your son.”

“Yeah. I am.” Kes splashes his face with cold water.

“How’re you holding up?” Daveed dried his hands and chucked the towel in the wastebin.

Kes shut off the water and leaned over the sink for a moment. “He made a joke tonight,” he said. “Three jokes.”

“That’s wonderful, sir.” Daveed clapped him on the back. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ll bring him back to life for you, I promise.”

“That’s not the sort of thing you can promise. But I appreciate it.” Kes toweled himself off, hoping the redness would fade from his eyes.

“If he survived that, he can survive coming home. No matter how hard it gets.” Daveed nodded at Kes again. “We’ll do the best we can. Have a good night, sir.”

The door closed behind him with a gentle thunk. Kes scrubbed the tiredness off his face, squared his shoulders, and returned to Poe’s room. His son was asleep, brow pinched, breathing slowly but steadily. Kes soft-footed around the bed, sat back in the armchair, and watched him sleep.

 _He made a joke_.

 _Kes,_ she said. _You’ll get through this._

 _We both will,_ Kes thought, and fell asleep at last.

 

 

 

_November 13th, 2011 (Seven days after Poe was rescued)_

“The scars,” Poe said.

Nicole stopped and looked at him. He didn't look at her. “They’ll fade,” she said at last, soft and sympathetic. “The massages will break up the scar tissue, so your range of motion improves—well, once you work with your therapist to figure out how to get through a massage without having a panic attack. And, I mean. Everyone heals differently.”

“But,” Poe said, eyes fixed out the window.

“But they’ll probably always be there,” Nicole said, hands cool on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Poe nodded. Nicole opened her mouth to say something more—

“Get out,” Poe rasped. “Please get out.” Nicole left. It took Poe three tries to sit up, stand up, and step carefully towards the window, dragging his drip with him. There was an armchair in front of the window. Poe dropped into it, exhausted with the effort, and stared out at the trees.

 

 

 

_November 15th, 2011 (9 days after Poe was rescued)_

The door to his room swung open, just a little. Jess poked her head in. “Poe?”

“Jess!” Poe mustered up a smile for her. “Hey. Dad said you were coming today.”

“Yeah. I’ll be here for a few weeks, actually. Unless you want to kick me out before then. They’re letting me work from home.”

“Nice gig.”

“The best,” Jess grinned. “How are you? You—you look like shit.”

“Well, I feel like shit, so…not a surprise.”

She sat by his bed, propped her feet up on the bedrail, and ran a nervous hand through her hair. “It’s ok, though,” she said. “Plenty of great scars to attract a lovely young gentleman.”

Poe grabbed her wrist with surprising force, eyes white-rimmed. “Young _lady_ ,” he bit out. His eyes flicked to the open door, the nurses passing in the hallway. “You—”

“Holy shit.” Jess pressed her knuckles to her mouth. “You didn’t hear! DADT is gone.”

“Is _what?”_

“Two months ago.” Jess covered his hand with hers. “You knew they were talking about it, you were still here when they started—”

“Starting doesn’t mean anything actually changes! I— _Jess._ Please tell me this isn’t a joke.”

“It’s not a joke.” Jess’ eyes were dead serious. “It’s not a fucking joke. I almost put my fist through the TV when I saw the announcement.”

“Why would you—” Poe shook his head, dazed. “It’s gone. Fuck! That’s a _good_ thing! Why would you punch the TV?”

Jess stared down at him. Poe stared back. “Yeah,” he said. “Well.”

“You’re back now, though.” Jess swallowed. “That’s what matters.” She tried on a lopsided smile. “And you lost the beard, my god, I’m glad your dad called me before I saw that fucking broadcast about the hostage deal. You can put the garland on your door now, if you want.”

“The gar—” Poe looked at her.

Jess looked at him.

Poe’s hand slid down to hers and held on tight. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“For dying?” Poe’s lips tipped up very slightly.

It was the closest thing to a smile she had seen on him in more than a year. Probably the most beautiful expression Jess had ever seen. “Poe,” she said, determined not to cry. “You fucker.” She raised a hand to whack his shoulder, as always. He flinched in anticipation, smile gone, a flicker of fear in his eyes. _Jess_. _You stupid-ass piece of shit. Use your brain for once, ok?_

“Sorry,” she said, breathless. “Fuck, Poe. I—”

“It’s ok.” His smile was back—on his lips, at least. “Apparently that’s a thing. That happens now. Don’t—don’t worry about it.”

Jess bit her lip.

Poe pressed on ahead. “Dad said. You took care of him. Thank you.”

“Of course. It—wasn’t a _pleasure_ , ok, but—I was glad to do it.”

“Yeah. You were never good at that feelings-thing, were you.”

“Better than you, you idiot.”

“Self-sacrificing. Noble idiot. To you.” Poe’s smile was back again, faint but real.

“I didn’t—” Jess stopped. _Mean for you to sacrifice your fucking life, Poe._

“No no no, come on.” Poe’s hand tightened on hers. “One of us needs to smile.”

Jess laughed helplessly at that.

“Look,” Poe said. “I’m really glad you came. But I’m going to fall asleep again in about five minutes. Maybe three and a half.”

“Oh! Ok. Yeah. Sorry.” Jess hurriedly stood, gathered her purse back to her side, and turned to leave.

“No!” Poe croaked. Jess turned back. Poe reached out to her. “Please,” he said. “Stay.” _Don’t leave me alone._ “Until I fall asleep. Tell me. About—your life.”

Jess sat back down with a gusty sigh. “My life,” she said.

“All of it.”

“Well,” Jess snorted. “All right. I’ll do my best. Ok. Um. So, I’m going to be working from home for a few weeks right now, so I can come annoy you whenever you want, but I do have a full-time job, thank you very much. I work for Resistance Peace Initiatives—”

 _“What?”_ Poe almost laughed, startled out of himself. “How on earth did you swing that?”

Jess shrugged. “I wrote Organa a lot of angry letters, then eventually barged my way into the office and yelled a lot. Something about how she wasn’t working fast enough. Needed to stop dicking around while, you know. Shit happens. War happens. Enough death already. You know? So. Apparently she likes it when people yell at her. Said I reminded her of herself when she was my age, something like that. Anyway, she offered me a job. I took it. I’m in charge of arranging presentations on the East Coast now, to politicians and potential donors. Helped arrange some peace marches, too. Providence. Baltimore. Newark.”

“Wow.” Poe shook his head. “Ok, I’m impressed. _Really_ impressed. But—why did you want to work for them in the first place? You’ve never been interested in desk work, and certainly not peace activism.”

Jess looked at him. Shrugged. “I was angry,” was all she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Yeah,” Poe said. “Well.” A wave of exhaustion hit him hard. He tipped his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Jess reached out again, slower this time, and stroked his hair back off his forehead.

Poe’s eyes fluttered open again. “It’s good to see you again, Jess,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Jess rasped. She took Poe’s hand again. “You fucker.”

“That’s _gay_ fucker to you.” Poe’s face slowly broke into the brightest grin Jess had ever seen. “Jess—” Poe shook his head.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Poe agreed. He let his eyes fall shut at last.

 

 

 

_November 20th, 2011 (15 days after Poe was rescued)_

“What are you doing!”

Poe opened his eyes. Nicole hurried down the hall towards him. He straightened up from where he’d stopped to lean against the wall—for a moment, just a moment, he was so dizzy.

“You shouldn't be out of bed! What are you—” Nicole cocked her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Mr. Dameron. You’re on bed rest, honey. How did you even—” She caught sight of the drops of blood staining his gown from where he’d pulled the IV from his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed, ok?” She reached for his arm.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Poe said, almost politely. He turned and continued to limp down the hall, swaying slightly, one hand on the wall for balance. “I’m going for a walk,” he said. “You going to drag me back in there?”

Nicole kept pace with him easily, lips pursed. “You need to rest,” she said. “You’re not going to get better if you don’t sleep.”

“Really. I had no idea.”

Nicole snorted. “Are you this snarky when you’re not sleep-deprived?”

“I’m not sleep-deprived. I’m tired. There’s a difference.”

Nicole was silent. Poe stepped carefully around a potted palm and continued on down the hallway. Her clogs made quiet squeaking noises. His bare feet did not.

Halfway down the hall, Nicole finally said, “Look. I have to get back to my station now. You really do need to sleep, or at least try to. But if you can’t sleep right now, and you’d like to go out for a bit, you’re welcome to. I’ll get your friend to come take you for a walk. All right? You can go out to the gardens. Have you ever been out there?”

Poe shook his head.

“Well, they’re lovely. You’re in for a treat. Just wait here, ok?” She motioned to a chair by the wall. “I’ll get you a wheelchair and a drip. You really shouldn’t go anywhere without them. I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

Poe sat in the chair.

Nicole left to get the wheelchair and IV drip.

Poe stood again, waited a moment for his head to clear, and limped on down the hallway, step by unsteady step. The faint texture of the paint slid by beneath his fingertips. The chill of the linoleum tiles seeped up through his feet. He was exhausted, completely drained, all the way down to his bones. That wasn’t a reason to stop walking.

“Asshole,” Jess called a minute later. Poe jerked around so fast he nearly lost his balance. “You couldn’t wait thirty seconds for us to get back to you?” Jess walked down the hall towards him, shoulder-to-shoulder with Nicole, pushing an empty wheelchair in front of her. When she saw Poe turn around, she sent it rolling slowly down the hallway towards him.

Poe caught the chair with a hand before it banged into his legs. “The hell are you doing here? I thought you went home to sleep.”

Jess shrugged. “I lied. We’ve been taking turns to sleep in the waiting room these past few days. Your dad and I, I mean.”

Poe stared at her.

Jess waved a magnanimous hand at the chair. “Please, sit! Your ride has arrived, your excellency.”

“What do you mean, _we?_ Dad, too?”

“Yup! For shenanigans such as this. Now sit, dumbass.”

“I’m tired of sitting. I’m going to walk.”

“Mr. Dameron.” Nicole folded her hands on her hips. “I’m willing to let you out for a little while. But you have to stay on the hospital grounds, and you have to stay in the chair, and your drip comes with you. Clear?” She nailed him with a Formidable Nurse look that Poe was willing to bet she’d spent years practicing.

Poe nailed her right back with his Air Force Commander look. Damn right he’d spent years practicing it. “You’re not ‘letting’ me do anything. I want to go for a walk. So I’m going for a walk.”

“Yes,” Jess cut in. “You are. But these are the conditions for your parole.”

Poe glared at her.

Jess beamed at him. “Come on, Dameron, play nice. Please? I want to see this garden with you, and I don’t want to upset your lovely nurse.”

“You just want to go back to sleep,” Poe muttered.

“That too,” Jess said, unfazed.

“Fuck you,” Poe sighed. He dropped into the chair with a groan of surrender.

As soon as he was settled, Nicole swiped his arm, reinserted the IV, hung the bag from a pole on the chair, and covered him with a blanket. “You take that drip out,” she warned, “and you’re not going on another adventure. Clear?”

“You try to keep me in that room,” Poe replied, “and I will hurt someone. Clear?” He smiled at her, set his hands on the wheels, and rolled himself down the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Jess sighed.

Nicole shrugged. “It’s all right. I’m glad to see a little more life coming back to him. Sorry to wake you.”

Poe disappeared around the corner. Jess started to jog after him. “Don’t worry about it,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m glad to see it too.”

 

 

 

Poe slammed his hand on the open-door button before Jess even got there. The doors opened out onto a broad concrete path lined with tiny white lights. The path wound between undulating garden beds, blossoming up from newly planted chrysanthemums to dark red burning bushes to Japanese maples that leaned overhead, scattering fiery leaves across the pathway. Poe rolled ahead of Jess, deep into the living maze, and took a deep breath.

Holy shit. Holy fucking _shit._

Outside.

For the first time since…well, since whenever his last escape attempt had been. Months, at least. The rescue didn't count—he hadn’t been aware of his surroundings enough to notice. His breath puffed out white in the crisp night air. He tugged the blanket up over his shoulders and rolled on down the path. A gazebo emerged from the dark, lit with fairy lights, adorned with donors’ plaques. _Sanctuary Garden,_ said the painted sign over the door.

Well, good. It felt like a sanctuary.

Just past the gazebo, the path arced gently up over a stream. Poe’s wheels clunked over the wooden bridge, up to its flat apex. He looked up.

Stars spiraled overhead in whorls and flurries of light. The moon was a narrow blade, sharp at both ends. Poe looked at the constellations instead. That was Orion, there, killed by a scorpion. Andromeda, chained to a rock. Cassiopeia, chained to a torture chair.

Poe closed his eyes.

Orion, who hunted with Artemis herself. Cassiopeia, who saved her kingdom. Andromeda, who was set free.

 _I don’t know why I got a second chance,_ Poe said to the spider. _But I don’t plan to waste it. Just—help me. Please help me._

_I miss you._

 

 

 

_November 28th, 2011 (23 days after Poe was rescued)_

“What the hell were you thinking!” Jess shouted. Poe cracked an eye open and turned to her. She stormed down the sidewalk towards him, purse and scarf flying back in her wake. He sat up straighter on the wooden bench, wincing at the concerned looks from a pair of passersby across the street.

“I wanted to go for a walk,” he said.

“You had us _panicked,_ Poe—”

“Well, that’s your problem—” Poe sighed and rubbed his face. “No. Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Then why did you _leave the fucking hospital?_ We were five minutes away from sending out the rescue squad—oh, shit, hang on, I need to call Kes. You talk to him.” She dialed and shoved the phone in his face. Kes picked up right away.

“Hey, dad,” Poe sighed.

“Mijo! Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, Papá. I wanted to go take a walk.”

“Why didn’t you ask one of us—”

“Didn’t occur to me.” Poe slumped against the side of the bench. “I’m sorry. I just—” _needed to get out, needed to, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think long enough to realize you’d all panic—_ “I wanted to get some coffee,” he grumbled at last. “Better than that hospital shit.” He looked down at his feet, bright orange socks against the concrete sidewalk. “I’m really sorry, Papá. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“It’s ok, Poe, just _—please,_ for the love of mercy, never do that again. I’ve got enough white hairs as it is.”

“I won’t,” Poe sighed. “I’m sorry, Papá.”

“It’s ok, mijo. Now just come back with Jess, ok?”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.” Poe hung up and handed the phone back.

Jess shoved it into her pocket. “How did you even get past the nurses?” she asked.

“Easy,” Poe snorted. “Bunch of amateurs. Great nurses, I mean, but their jailer skills could use some work. They have a set check-in schedule, can you believe it? Piece of cake. And Dad brought in sweats, so I even had street clothes to wear, in case anyone saw me on my way out, which they didn’t, because I am _not_ an amateur. And don’t you even think about taking the clothes away, or I will be pissed, and I will still sneak out in the gown, and wander bare-assed through this lovely town, and I’m sure neither of you want to see that.”

“You don’t even have an ass anymore.”

“Rude!” Poe grinned at her. “I come back from the dead and this is what I have to put up with?”

“Right,” Jess snorted. “And all we have to endure is daily heart attacks. Look.” She fumbled in her pocket and drew out another phone. “This is yours.”

“You got me a _phone?_ Damn. What happens the next time I run away?”

“We got this _yesterday_ ,” Jess enunciated, _“before_ you snuck out, and I wouldn’t give it to you now except that the entire point of it was so that you could _communicate with us_. Kes paid for it, but I picked it out, because he doesn't know shit about phones. Man doesn’t even have a flip phone, for god’s sake.” She shook her head. “Look, it even has a slide-out keyboard so texting is easier. I put all of our contacts in it.”

Poe stared at it for a moment. “It has a new number,” he said at last.

“Yup,” Jess said, watching his face carefully. “And it’s bright Superman blue, isn’t that pretty?”

“Wonderful. Matches my eyes. Kind of.”

“Not in the slightest, you dork.” Jess bit back a grin. “So next time you wander off, take the fucking phone, ok? And if Kes or I call you, you pick up. Immediately. If you don’t pick up the first time, we’ll call again. If you still don’t pick up, we’ll send the cops out on your invisible ass. That clear?” Jess brandished the phone at Poe.

Poe saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Idiot,” Jess muttered. “Now, you want to explain why you wandered out into town?”

“I wanted some coffee.”

“You don’t even have any money.”

“So?”

“So, do I look like an idiot? You snuck out because you were freaking out and then you went this way because it’s flat and the other way is a hill and then you stopped here because you were tired.”

“And this bench is in the sun,” Poe shrugged. “But there you go, you got it in one. Why’d you bother asking?”

“Because if you’re well enough to lie to me, you’re well enough to walk back to the hospital. Otherwise, I’d call your dad and have him drive you back. Come on, get your ass in gear. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“But there’s a coffeeshop right on this block!” Poe smiled at her in perfect innocence. “I came so far, might as well get my reward.”

Jess’ deadly eyebrows snapped together. Poe beamed up at her. “Fine, you asshole,” Jess grumbled. “You can walk on your own, right? Do you need—”

Poe stood up, affronted. “You impugn my honor!”

Jess steadied him as he swayed dizzily. “You have no honor, dear. I have a copy of every single embarrassing photo ever taken of you.”

“You’re in half of them,” Poe pointed out, once his head had cleared enough to be able to see again. “Not great blackmail material.”

“And you’re not getting coffee,” she continued loudly, ignoring him, “because I don’t plan to be responsible for your caffeine-induced panic attack. That was not fun yesterday. But I’d be happy to buy you herbal tea, or a pastry, or whatever, ok?”

“Thanks, Jess,” Poe sighed. “Happy to be playing hooky with you again.”

“You’re welcome, Dameron. Honestly, I’m pretty impressed that you made it out without anyone even noticing.”

Poe gave her a flourishing half-bow as they walked. “Like I said, not an amateur. But next time, I’m picking your purse before I sneak out.”

“After I give you a phone? This is the thanks I get? I could have picked out the AARP version, remember.”

“Ah, but you didn’t.” Poe beamed at her. “Because you love me.”

The door chimed overhead as they walked into the cafe’s welcome warmth. “Asshole,” Jess muttered, but she was smiling. Poe elbowed her. She elbowed him back.

 

 

 

Next time he found a twenty in the pocket of his sweats as he frantically yanked them on, trying to control his breathing. It was folded inside a note that read, in scrawling purple gel pen: _IF YOU BUY COFFEE AND GIVE YOURSELF A PANIC ATTACK I WILL LAUGH AT YOU FOR THE NEXT SIXTY YEARS._

_ENJOY, DAMERON. BUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE TEXT US FIRST OK?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother, who really did ask the nurse if she had a choice. 
> 
> <3 you


	5. it's a start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied panic attacks. Another spoilery warning in the end notes.

_December 12th, 2011 (37 days after Poe was rescued)_

Coming back from the dead was a miracle, as Kes kept saying. It was also, as far as Poe could tell, a logistical nightmare.

Everything he used to own had gone to Kes—which was actually fine, as Kes was more than thrilled to trade it back in exchange for a living son. Except, of course, for the things Kes no longer had. He had ended Poe’s lease, of course, so Poe no longer had his apartment. Kes had also sold Poe’s car, as well as his own, and walked to work from his apartment in the city.

Apartment.

Because he had sold the house, the entire house, and everything inside the house.

“Why?” Poe asked, when Kes told him this.

Kes stared at him, cleared his throat, and moved on.

 

 

 

They decided that Poe would stay with Kes for a few days while he looked for a new apartment—that was, assuming he'd be able to rent one. “Do I even have a credit score?” Poe asked one day.

“No fucking clue.” Jess made a note of that on her List of What Poe Wants in an Apartment.

“I mean, that’s sort of an existential question,” Poe mused. “Do I need to pay taxes? When will the government realize I’m still alive?”

Jess cut her eyes at him. “Government paid a fuck-ton of money to get those helicopters to you and give you a ride out of there. I think they know you exist.”

“Dammit,” Poe sighed. “Well. It was worth a try.”

“Focus, Dameron, or I’ll just buy you an RV and send you away. Which neighborhoods do you want to live in?”

 

 

 

_December 15th, 2011 (39 days after Poe was rescued)_

Kes’ studio apartment was, well, a studio apartment.

“There’s—there’s only one room,” Poe said, turning around in the small space, feeling dumber than rocks, which at least have the sense to sit outside in the sunshine.

Kes gave him an odd look. “You knew that,” he said. “Right? You know what studios are. You had one for a few—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just—yeah. I didn’t—I guess I didn’t really think about it.” This really shouldn’t be that difficult. It was larger than his hospital room, but he’d kept his door open as often as he could, so it had felt more like an extension of the endless hallways.

“You going to be all right?” Kes asked.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.”

Kes gave him a look.

“I’ll be fine!” Poe insisted. “It’s ok.”

Kes raised his hands. “Ok, ok. I’m going to buy groceries now. You want to come with? It’s a bit of a walk.”

Poe shook his head. “I’ll pass. Still tired from PT.”

“Ok. I’ll set up the air mattress when I get back. And like I said—”

“No, no, it’s fine! You should take the bed. We already decided. No take-backs.”

Kes snorted. “Well, then. All right. I’ll be back in about an hour. Phone’s on if you need anything.”

When Kes left, Poe lay down on the miniature couch for a short nap. When he woke up alone in a small, locked room, without even a spider for company, he did not react well.

 

 

 

 **2:13pm Poe:** in the park

sorry

i don’t think i can stay there

 **2:17pm Poe:** I don’t know what else to do

 

 

 

Kes found Poe curled up on a park bench in the sun, eyes closed, maybe asleep. He sat in the sliver of space left by Poe’s head. Poe jolted awake—then relaxed again as he recognized Kes and reoriented himself in the park. His eyes darted up to his dad’s, then down again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s ok.” Kes ran a hand through Poe’s curls, leaned back against the bench, and sighed. “Mijo. It’s ok. We’ll figure it out.” He was quiet for a moment. “Plenty of hotels around here, at any rate. I’m sure we can find a suite, or something, that has more than one room.”

“But that’s expensive—”

“Poe.” Kes cut him off. “Consider it a belated birthday present, if that makes it better?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Poe sighed and closed his eyes again. Kes twirled a curl around his finger. “Then what am I getting for Christmas?” Poe mumbled at last.

Kes threw back his head and laughed. Poe grinned up at him in relief.

 

 

 

_December 16th, 2011 (41 days after Poe was rescued)_

**7:42am Poe:** The hotel staff just found out I’m THE Poe Dameron

So now they’re giving me free breakfast for a week

 **7:42am Jess:** milk it, dude. way to go.

 **7:43am Poe:** I’m laughing my ass off over here. Come help me eat it.

camp out in the other room of the suite if you want

bring your furry friends

 **7:44am Jess:** HUGE sigh

no camping today

some of us have to go to work

but breakfast

well

i think i can fit that into my VERY IMPORTANT schedule

the things i do for you, pal

save me some bacon k?

 

 

 

_December 20th, 2011 (45 days after Poe was rescued)_

**8:52pm Jess:** FOUND IT

Check this place out

[sent a link]

 **8:53pm Poe:** Thank you!

But wait I thought you were going out tonight.

 **8:54pm Jess:** Date bailed

screw this shit

I’m finding you a home instead

 **8:56pm Jess** did you look at it???

1bdrm decent $ close to running trail and groc store lots of windows need anything else?

 **8:57pm Poe:** I looked at it. It’s awesome! Thank you.

 **8:57pm Jess:** yep probably means it’s off the mkt already but hey worth a shot

 **8:58pm Poe:** Just emailed, on my list to call tomorrow. Thanks for finding it!

 **8:59pm Jess:** np dude

far more fun than listening to some chick drone on about her life without asking me a single thing let me tell you

looking for a couch next fair warning

we’re all going to chip in and buy you one big enough to fuck on

like epic-level fucking

 **9:01pm Poe:** How drunk are you?

 **9:01pm Jess:** NOT

AT ALL

you fucker

 **9:02pm Poe:** I’ll bring you some ibuprofen tomorrow

 **9:02pm Jess:** like i really thought it would be easy you know

come out and get a jazzy undercut and wear super cute overalls and like find a nice chick you know

like where are all the wonderful wlw in the world and why don’t they like me

i’m a nice person i swear

ok maybe i swear too much but i’m really nice you know

 **9:03pm Poe:** Stand by, I’m coming over.

Friends don’t let friends get drunk and cry about their love life alone.

 **9:04pm Jess:** THANKS DAMERON

YOU’RE THE BEST

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

 **9:05pm Poe:** PUT DOWN THE GODDAMN BOTTLE

 

 

 

_December 23rd, 2011 (48 days after Poe was rescued)_

OkCupid, Coffee Meets Bagel, maybe even Grindr? Anything had to be better than sitting in a bar. Poe couldn't drink much, not with the meds, and if he got disoriented or started to panic, it was far too difficult to get out of a bar and back home safely.

So: apps it was. He set up quick profiles and swiped around—ok, yup, there were attractive people in the world. A lot of weird people too, but hey. Always a few around. Most people seemed nice, or at least nice enough to send hopefully-not-awkward first messages to. And it was surprisingly easy, while sitting on his brand-new couch in the safety of his silent apartment, to think about actually going out and meeting them.

Poe finally dragged himself away from the dating apps (fuck, they were addictive!) half an hour later in order to take a shower. The gas guys wouldn’t arrive until the next day to turn the heat on, so he opted for as short a shower as possible in the freezing water. When he got out, he dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, went to the sink to shave, stared at his body in the mirror, and forgot how to breathe.

Twenty minutes later, Poe picked himself up off the floor, walked back into his room, pulled on clothes, found a screwdriver in the kitchen junk drawer, returned to the bathroom, unscrewed the mirror, wrote FREE on a post-it note, stuck the note onto the mirror, took it down to the curb, and left it leaning against a parking meter in the late summer sunshine.

He continued on to a hardware store, bought a palm-sized mirror, returned to his apartment, and installed the mirror inside the medicine cabinet, angled just right so he could see his face and hair. He shaved then, neatly and precisely, and swept a bit of gel through his hair to keep his curls in some vague semblance of order.

Poe sat back on the couch, pulled out his phone, checked his email, texted Jess about meeting up for dinner the next day, deleted his profiles on the dating apps, uninstalled them from his phone, and checked the weather forecast for his afternoon run.

 

 

 

 _I might as well be back there_. _I might as well I might as well I might as well—_

Poe’s fingers shook on his shoelaces. At last both shoes were knotted, at least well enough to keep him from tripping. He flung the door open, locked it, and ran. Down the stairs, out the door, down the street, right, left, right, straight, highway, endless, stretching on and on.

All he could think of were the three, four, maybe five crushes he’d had in his life. Ignored, avoided, nodded and said nothing at all. He should have gone further with that sweet pre-med guy during freshman orientation, before getting swept up into ROTC. He should have visited a gay bar somewhere while on leave after each tour. Been less paranoid about being caught.

Maybe he had used up his allotment of people to fall in love with. Maybe it was karma. He’d spent too long in hiding. Now he had met all of the people he was supposed to meet. Lost his chance.

There was a view, at long long last. The hill fell away beyond the edge of the road and flourished into a green valley, bright river twisting through it, vivid and alive. Poe drank in the sight as though it could cure him. Flow through the ache in his chest. Float his cares away. Bring him someone on the morning rush, foaming over rapids, crashing onto rocks, buoying up again aboard a glinting boat, strong hands on the oar, gleaming smile, coming into shore, opening up his arms to meet him—

A car honked, startling Poe off the sidewalk and into the shallow ditch beside the road. He stopped for a moment, bent in half, braced on his knees. As he started back up onto the graveled shoulder, pounding through the ache in his knees, he begged the spider—

_I didn’t survive so I could be alone for the rest of my life. Please, please, please. I can’t do this on my own._

 

 

 

_March 2nd, 2012 (Four months after Poe was rescued)_

The dress uniform they gave him was two sizes smaller than the one he used to wear, but it still hung loose on him. Poe shifted his feet, watching President Obama address the gathered press corps. When he approached to accept the medal, the lights nearly blinded him. Obama’s handshake was firm, his smile warm, as he murmured a joke that Poe would never be able to remember, no matter how hard he tried.

And then it was his turn to stand before the press, squinting against the blinding lights. “Three questions,” he said. When he’d pleaded with the White House press secretary, she’d been very clear that he really should speak to the press, if at all possible, but he could stick to that limit and then bow out. He scanned the crowd for a moment, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to pick a person to answer. Finally he pointed at random to a tall white man in a trim pinstripe suit.

“What was the worst part of the experience?” the man shouted up at him. The crowd quieted briefly.

Poe stared down at him. “Why would you ask that?” he rasped. “Next question.”

Chaos. Poe picked out a Latina woman in the crowd. “What’s the best part of coming back home?” she asked with a friendly smile.

Poe smiled back, relieved to be on steadier ground. “Um. The best part. I guess…seeing my dad again.” He cleared his throat. “And my best friend.” He glanced to the side and caught Jess grinning at him from the wings as Kes wiped at his eyes.

Poe looked back out to the crowd and picked a Black man with a bright green tie his dad would love. “What kept you going?” the man asked, eyes intent on Poe.

Poe stared at him. “I don’t know," he said at last. "Is this where I say ‘truth, justice, and the American way’?”

The crowd laughed.

Poe didn't.

“I didn’t want to die,” he said. “So I didn’t.” He tried to smile. “In case you’re wondering: no, it’s not actually that easy. Next question.”

He picked a woman whose deep brown eyes framed a bindi dot, precise as a star. “You’ve been away for a year,” she said. “What was the most surprising thing about coming home?”

Poe blinked. “I—I don’t know,” he said, trying to think. “A lot of things have been surprising. I guess…one of the best surprises…was…” The lights were starting to give him a headache, pulsing by his temple. “That DADT was repealed?”

After a moment of startled silence, the room burst into applause. Half of the reporters stood, shouting questions at him. He turned to the wings and squinted at Jess. “That was three, right?” he mouthed. She nodded, biting back a grin.

“Thank you.” Poe nodded at the crowd. “That’s all. Thank you. Ok.”

He walked off the stage with careful steps. Kes greeted him with open arms. Poe fell into them gratefully, heart still pounding in his temples. “Why are they shouting?” he mumbled into Kes’ shoulder. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, then snapped upright out of Kes’ hug. “Did I just—I didn’t—” He stopped. “I didn’t just come out on national television.”

“Not _technically,”_ Jess tried. “You could just be a good ally? Or a homophobe, even. Maybe they'll just say that vets are against the repeal.”

“That’s even worse!” Poe covered his face. “Oh, fuck.”

The press secretary ushered them into a quieter room offstage. Poe slumped onto a couch and put his head in his hands, trying to pull in a full breath. Jess sat next to him and set a hand on his arm. “Are you ok?” she asked quietly.

“Can’t you tell them to hush that up?” Kes growled, toe to toe with the press secretary’s neat heels.

She smiled in sympathy. “I’m really sorry. I can’t. Anything you say at a press conference can and will be held against you.”

“They can’t kick you out,” Jess was saying to Poe, soft and urgent. “That’s the whole point of this. They can’t do anything to you! You’re safe.”

“There must be a way to keep this down!” Kes argued. “Poe’s got enough on his plate right now, without—”

“Are they still there?” Poe asked, but no one was really listening to him. “Are they still out there?” he asked again, louder.

The press secretary—what was her name again? Ms. Nerro?—blinked at Poe. “They—yes. Yes, they are.”

“Good.” Poe stood, steadied himself on Jess’ shoulder while the wave of dizziness passed, and walked back down the hall towards the stage. As the reporters noticed him, they stopped packing up and turned their cameras back to the stage, shouting a barrage of questions at him.

For a moment, Poe could see the bullies’ faces looming over him in the bathroom, demanding details of his relationship with Jess, raising their whips for another excruciating strike—no. He clenched his hands into fists and dragged himself back to the packed crowd of reporters and the blinding flash of their cameras.

He could step off the stage again and let them twist his story as they pleased. He could use this moment to backtrack. Insist he was only a good ally, protect other gay recruits from any backlash from the way the journalists might spin his words. Or he could disengage his limiters and shoot straight up into the Pugachev’s cobra he’d set for himself.

Poe squared his shoulders and leaned into the microphone. “For years now,” he rasped, “I’ve served a country that accepted me as a soldier, but not as a human being. A country that would have let me return in a body bag, but not love someone else. But that—but—but—fuck that. Fuck it all. I have the same right to love and honesty as anyone else. I’m done hiding. I’m alive. I’m home. I have no more fucks to give. I—I am gay. I can say that now. You have no idea how much that means. To me, to—to all of us.”

The deafening roar of their questions and cheers swept over Poe from all sides. “Thank you,” he said again, holding on tightly to the podium. “That’s all.”

He walked back to the wings and fell into Kes and Jess’ outstretched arms, heart pounding in his ears.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kes whispered. “God, mijo. Your mother is cheering and hollering somewhere up there.”

“You fucking did it.” Jess cupped Poe’s face in her hands, beaming from ear to ear, face glittering with tears. “You badass motherfucker. I can’t believe it.”

“Let’s go.” Poe put a hand to his temple in a futile attempt to ease the pressure. “Can we go? I’d like to go home. Can we _please_ get the fuck out of here?”

 

 

 

They finally made it out of the White House complex and wandered out into the broad green Mall to take a moment’s respite before finding their way back to their car. Poe smiled at Kes and Jess, walked tall, and kept it together. His uniform was hot and sticky beneath the DC sun, far too warm for early spring. A full bottle of water and some relative quiet had eased his headache, but he was still—he— “I need to sit down,” he said. There was a bench. He sat on it. They sat beside him, one on each side. Kes put an arm around Poe’s shoulders.

Poe leaned against his dad and closed his eyes. “They were all watching the ceremony, back home,” he said.

“Yeah,” Kes sighed. “Or planning to, at least.”

“They can’t do anything to you, Poe,” Jess said quietly. “You’ll be ok.”

Poe nodded. There was a long pool in front of them—the reflecting pool, he supposed, although he hadn’t been paying much attention to where they were. The sun played over the water, rippling and bright.

“And Abuela,” Poe said. “She was going to watch it too, wasn’t she? She said Luis was going to translate for her.”

Kes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can deal with Abuela. Your mother wouldn’t have let her say a word against you. I can do the same.”

Poe buried his head in Kes’ shoulder. “Shit,” was all he could think to say. “Fucking shit.”

A man cleared his throat in the road. “Excuse me. Commander Dameron? I’m sorry to interrupt—I just—”

“Enough, already!” Jess snapped. “You people have done enough damage with your fucking questions. Let Poe sit here in peace, for god’s sake.”

Poe lifted his head. It was the man with the bright green tie.

“No questions, I promise. This is completely off the record.”

Poe nodded.

The man dropped to one knee before the bench to get down to Poe’s eye level, heedless of the dusty path. “I just wanted to say that—that what you said back there was incredibly brave. I wanted to thank you for it. There’s been so much anger around whether to repeal DADT, and so many people have been—well—saying a lot of bad things about gay vets. I just wanted to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, on behalf of the LGBT community, or at least myself. I really appreciate your support for the repeal. I know—” His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “Well. It seems, at least, like you didn’t mean to come out like that.”

Poe shook his head, silent.

“Well. I’m sorry. That—sucks. Badly. That must be—” he cleared his throat— “terrifying. To be accidentally outed like that. I know Sangita—that’s the woman who asked you—she’s really sorry. She said she’s going to get in contact with you to apologize.”

“Not her fault.” Poe tried to smile. “She couldn’t have known I’d say that.”

“Fair enough. But she’s still worried about you. As am I. But I’m also really, _really_ grateful for what you said.” The man locked eyes with Poe. “You made a lot of us incredibly happy today. I just—I know it’ll be a rollercoaster, on top of everything else I’m sure you’re dealing with right now, and I’m deeply sorry about that. But I want you to know that there are so many people out there who are really, _really_ proud of you, and what you’ve done, and what you stand for, accidentally or not.”

Poe stared at him.  

“I just—I’m sorry. To interrupt. I’m sure you want privacy. I—I just wanted to say. I wish you the best.” The man stood, adjusted his tie with unsteady hands, and turned to go.

“Wait!” Poe croaked. He motioned to the bench. “Sit. Please.” Jess scooted over to make room. Poe fixed his eyes on the man’s shoes, rich leather edged with dust from the path. “Thank you,” he said at last. “That means a lot to me.”

“Thank _you.”_

“You’re welcome? I think? Um.” Poe hesitated, then leapt. “What’s your name?”

“Oh! Sorry. I’m Sebastian Potter, from the Herald. Bastian.”

Poe shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Bastian. I’m Poe. But you probably knew that already.” He cracked a half-smile. “I’d like to offer you—well, I don’t really know if this is worth anything, but if you’d like to ask a few more questions, do a real interview, I—I think I’d be willing to do that.”

Bastian’s eyes widened. “What,” he breathed. “You serious?”

“Yes? I think? Um. No hardballs. And—email me the questions first. Please. I don’t want to be surprised.”

“Of course. No problem. I—wow.” Bastian shook his head. “I wasn’t angling for an interview. I swear.”

“I know that.” Poe grinned crookedly at him. “And I appreciate it. And I also really appreciate what you said. So. That’s why I’m offering.”

“Well.” Bastian grinned back. “ _Thank_ you. Whoa. No way I’d ever pass that up.”

Poe nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The man’s smile as he left, clutching a scrap of paper with Poe’s email scrawled on it, was almost as bright as the lights on the stage.

 

 

 

Poe stretched out his legs, tilted his head back, and basked in the cool sunshine.

He could still remember the way the ground beside the dumpsters had smelled. He had been in the closet since he was fourteen. He had no idea what to do with himself now.

But there were a lot of people who were really, really proud of him, Bastian said. Grateful for what he said. Willing to support him.

_It’s a start? Maybe I’ll survive this, too._

Poe leaned his head against Kes’ shoulder again, more than ready for a nap, and closed his eyes.

His cellphone rang.

Poe jerked awake and fumbled it out of his pocket. “Shit,” he said, heart suddenly pounding. _Time to face the music._ He took a deep breath, paced away a few feet, and accepted the call. “Buenas tardes, Abuela,” he said, forcing a smile. “Cómo estás?”

“Poe, cariño,” she said. Her accent slid into place in his heart, familiar and loving and about to curse him out. “I just watched your medal ceremony. It was lovely, so lovely—you need to eat more, but the uniform is very sharp. And I’m so impressed with the way you answered their questions! Like a true gentleman. I would have been so nervous, oh Lord.”

“Thanks, Abuela—”

“Oh, and I’m so glad you finally came out,” Abuela added.

“That but I—” Poe sputtered to a halt. “What,” he said, scrubbing at his hair.

“That you finally came out! It’s about time. You’re past thirty! It’s time to settle down with a nice gentleman, you know?”

“Abuela,” Poe said. He couldn't sit on the grass in his dress uniform, was all he could think, he had to give it back tomorrow and they'd hate it if he'd gotten grass stains all over it— “Abuela,” he said again, and sat down anyway. “What do you mean, _finally?”_

“Poe, cariño.” Her voice gentled.

“How did you know?” he croaked. “Did Dad—”

“No! He didn’t say a word. But look, dear. You think you could have hidden it from your mother?”

“Well—probably not, but—”

“Then how could you have hidden it from me? Where do you think she got those eyes?”

Poe stared across the reflecting pool. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jess and his dad staring at him in concern, probably planning to come rescue him in a moment. “Do you think—” Poe started, then stopped.

“Poe.”

“Do you think she would have—”

“She would have been so proud, cariño,” Abuela said, very soft. “As am I.”

“You’re not mad,” Poe said. “Why aren’t you mad.”

“Look,” she chuckled. “I was upset, yes, when I first realized. I always want more great-grandchildren. But look, it’s legal now! You can adopt. And who knows, at this rate maybe you’ll even be able to get married someday.”

“Married.” Poe covered his eyes.

“Or not?” Abuela added, as a dubious afterthought. “But you will. I’m sure of it. I have a list of the states where it’s legal now, I’ll send it to you. Too much love in you to stay alone forever. I was going to set you up with Raúl, you know, that doctor, Luisa’s brother-in-law’s friend, but he’s already taken.”

“Right.”

“And anyway, your mamá would never forgive me if I let you live alone your whole life. You need a family, cariño. And I look forward to meeting him.”

“Meeting him,” Poe said, dazed.

“Yes, dear, that’s what I said. Look, I need to go help Ariana now, her baby hasn’t been nursing right and he’s screaming bloody murder in the kitchen right now. So go enjoy DC, wander around, have fun, ok? And call me more often.”

“Ok, Abuela,” Poe laughed. “I will. Thank you.”

“Love you, cariño.”

“Love you too, Abuela.”

Poe ended the call and stared across the reflecting pool, eyes stinging.

 _It’s a start,_ he said to the spider. _A good start?_

 

 

 

_March 11th, 2012_

Poe sat on the chair, hands clasped in his lap. He wasn’t sure whether to jump to attention before Leia’s regal bearing or hide under the desk.

“Commander Dameron.” Leia smiled at him. “Thanks for coming in.”

“It’s—a pleasure, ma’am. And—just Poe, please. I’m—” he shrugged, winced, regretted the motion. His back was still painfully tight. Might always be. “Retired now, I guess?”

“Well. In that case, I’ll have to insist on Leia. How are you doing?”

“Fine, ma’am. Leia.”

Leia held his eyes and waited.

Poe stared back, sitting stiffly upright.

At last Leia’s lips quirked into a crooked grin. “Well,” she said. “I’ll train you out of that eventually, but for now, I’ll let it slide. I want you on my team. I liked what you said in the interview. ‘The horrors of war will never end until we end the horror that is war.’ Too poetic, too fancy, but I can train you out of that, too. It’s a good start. And being a veteran will give you street cred among the typical hawks. The job would be project-based, salaried work. Make your own hours, work when you can, take a break when you can’t. Pick up again when you’re ready to. You’ll find you’re…” She tapped her fingers on her desk. “Not the only one in this office who’s been hurt by war,” she finished at last.

Poe nodded silently. He listened as Leia outlined the position. Rally the people. Gather the veterans who agree. Convince politicians to start looking for alternatives to violence. Marches. Protests. Sit-ins.

“This time,” she said, eyes older than anyone Poe had ever met. “We’re going to make the world safer. For everyone. And we’re going to keep it that way.”

Poe stared at his hands for a long time. The handcuff scars on his wrists were starting to fade. He wasn’t sure they'd ever disappear.

“I’ll think about it,” he said at last.

 

 

 

_Easter, April 8, 2012 (Five months after Poe was rescued)_

Poe rose unsteadily and made his way to the bathroom, ignoring his father’s concerned gaze. He leaned against the bathroom counter and buried his face in his hands, heart racing. It was just too much. Too much. The family, the noise, the laughter, the call-outs, the joy, the rapid-fire conversation, the love. He wiped furiously at his leaking eyes, he was ok, he was fine, he was just going to take a moment—

Someone knocked on the door.

“Excuse me,” Poe called. “I’ll be out in a sec.” Poe hastily wiped his face and squinted at his face in the mirror. Slightly reddened eyes, but it would have to do. He opened the door—and Abuela folded him into her arms before he could even protest.

“Abuela,” he sputtered. “What—”

“I’m sorry, cariño.” Abuela patted his back. “I’m so sorry. You’ll be ok. You know that. But I like to remind you anyway.”

“I—” Poe gave up and hugged her back. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It was just too much for a moment.”

“That’s what I just said, dear.” She nodded against his shoulder. “Of course you will be fine.”

“What did you do?” he asked suddenly. “During the civil war. How did you keep going? How did you hold onto normal life?”

“Normal life,” Abuela chuckled. “What is that? Hmm.” She was quiet for a moment. “I fed my chickens,” she said at last.

“Fed your chickens.”

“Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “And your grandfather and I fucked a lot, that helped too.” She pulled back and laughed at the look on Poe’s face. “You didn’t think I knew that word, did you?”

“I,” Poe said, and wisely decided that silence was the better part of valor. Or something like that.

“And normal life is better here,” Abuela continued, “we’re okay, we’re in the country that started all of the horror, so of course there’s no war here. No more chickens, but we managed the shop together, that helped even more.”

She patted him on the shoulder and turned toward the bathroom. “You’ll be fine, cariño. I promise you. But!” She turned back to him before he could escape, finger raised in admonition. “This is why you need to find yourself someone to love! You got that?”

“It’s not that easy, Abuela—”

“Of course it’s not. But you will. Right?” She raised a pair of razor-dark eyebrows.

“Right,” Poe said, because when your abuela tells you something you’d better agree.

“Good boy,” Abuela said, and patted his arm. Before she closed the bathroom door behind her, she called, “But make sure you wear a condom!”

Poe scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Abuela,” he said.

“You didn’t think I knew that word either, did you,” Abuela cackled. She grinned at him. “Go back and eat something, cariño, I can still see your bones.”

“Yes, Abuela,” Poe sighed, because when your abuela tells you something you’d better do it.

“Love you, dear,” she said, and clicked the bathroom door shut behind her. Poe stumbled back down the hall and leaned against the wall for a moment, listening to the tumult from the dining room.

Fucking? Not yet. Not for a long while. Or ever. That called for nakedness, and nakedness was not a thing he could do anymore.

But feeding chickens? That he could do.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Before he returned to the table, Poe pulled out his phone.

 

 **Poe:** When do I start?

 **Leia:** Good man. I knew you’d come around.

Come into the office tomorrow and we’ll talk details. I’ll have a contract for you.

 **Poe:** Thank you, ma’am.

 **Leia:** I told you not to call me ma’am.

 **Poe:** General?

 **Leia:** General will do.

 

 

 

_April 22nd, 2012_

Somewhere behind him, leaves crunched underfoot. Poe whipped around, saw Jess, put a hand to his pounding heart, and looked back out across the river.

“Sorry,” Jess called, picking her way across the half-frozen mud flats to the gravel shore. “I was going to text you, but my phone’s battery died. Fortunately, I got brand-new batteries for these babies.” She tossed him a Game Boy and sat beside him. “Mario, Tetris, or FIFA?”

“Wait—” Poe turned it over in his hands. “This is _my_ Game Boy.”

“Yeah.” Jess stared across the river to the trees crowding against the opposite shore. “Kes gave them to me. Forgot about them till I cleaned out my closet the other day, then figured I ought to return them.”

Poe stared at her for a long time. Jess finally looked back at him and cocked one eyebrow. “You going to play, or what? Pick a game, any game.” She pulled the three game cartridges out and offered them to Poe like a hand of cards.

“You still have them.” Poe reached out to touch them, disbelieving. “Air Force game got lost, or what?”

“Oh.” Jess blinked. “Um. I mean, it’s still there, it’s in the bag with the rest of them. I just assumed you wouldn’t want to—”

Poe held out his hand. Jess fumbled in her bag, then pulled out the Air Force cartridge and handed it to him. Poe fitted it into the Game Boy’s slot and flicked the on button like no time at all had passed. His hands knew what to do, they always had. The familiar motion fit inside him like the cartridge, filling a slot he hadn’t even known was empty. As the music started up again, he leaned on Jess’ shoulder and watched her FIFA game blink awake beneath her hands.

“It’s a part of me,” he said at last. “It’s worth fighting to get back.”

She looked up at him, hair falling haphazardly into her eyes, lit with the deep salmon light of sunset. Her player missed the kick and stopped abruptly, waiting for her fingers to resume their game. “Good,” she said at last. “Think you can beat your last record?”

“Worth a shot,” Poe said. He squinted down at his own game, set his fingers on the keys, and took flight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional spoilery warning: unintentionally outing oneself. 
> 
> Did you know that the US caused a 36-year genocidal civil war in Guatemala? I didn’t until I did research for this chapter, and I’m really fucking glad I learned about it but I’m also still crying inside, and I have a lot of curses but I’ll leave them to your imagination. Go do your own research, and then find a friend and tell them too, and then if you can, please get involved with politics because for the love of mercy, the world of politics needs more people who care about human beings.
> 
> Subscribe to the series to get notified when I post the first chapter of Finn's story!

**Author's Note:**

> N.B.: BB-8 makes a cameo appearance somewhere in this fic. Major points if you spot them...
> 
> Comments and concrits always welcome! 
> 
> <3


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